Back at the Green Dragon Inn
by Iorhael
Summary: Everything remained the same at the Green Dragon Inn when the four hobbits were back from the quest. Movie canon.


**Back at the Green Dragon Inn**   
  


A twenty-seventh fic by Iorhael 

AN: Written based on a plot bunny from **shirebound**, who also betaed this. Movie canon. 

Summary: Everything remained the same at the Green Dragon Inn when the four hobbits were back from the quest.   
  


_Hey ho, to the bottle I go!   
  
To heal my heart and drown my woe.   
  
Rain may fall and wind may blow.   
  
But there still be –   
  
many miles to go!   
  
  
  
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,   
  
and the stream that falls from hill to plain.   
  
Better than rain or rippling brook –   
  
is a mug of beer inside this Took!_   
  


Frodo threw his glances, heavy-heartedly, to the table where Merry, Pippin, and Sam were sitting, waiting for him to bring them ale. It was hard to picture both of his cousins indulging themselves in merry singing and dancing _now_, as they had done the night of Bilbo's birthday when they entertained the remaining guests – and themselves – who preferred to stay over at the Green Dragon Inn.

Bestowing a table as the stage, Merry and Pippin had danced around on it, thumping their feet with full spirit while one of each of their hands gripped tightly a tankard full of ale. Smiling sentimentally at the fond memory, Frodo muttered _thank you_ to Rosie – Rose Cotton, Farmer Cotton's daughter – who handed him four mugs containing similar kind of brew. Frodo kept his eyes on them even when he was tromping down toward his table and almost bumped into a man carrying a large pumpkin as the result.

"Watch for the pumpkin!"

Frodo halted immediately, his eyes still fixing on the tankards he was carrying, and turned toward his friends. He failed to notice a strange gleam in the eyes of the hobbit with the pumpkin, who kept staring at Frodo while speaking in a low voice to other hobbits at his table. 

_"War is brewing. The mountains are fair teeming with goblins."_

_"Far-off tales and children's stories, that's all that is. You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins. Cracked, he was."_

_"Young Mr. Frodo, here, he's cracking!"_

_"And proud of it! Cheers, Gaffer!"_

Frodo set the four mugs of ale on the table before his friends. He then sat himself down and looked around. A longing sensation pierced his heart as ghosts of the past cast their shadow. He could almost hear again the conversation at this very table what seemed like years ago, when in fact it was only over a year. It was playing again in Frodo's mind how the Gaffer, Sam's father, with better reasoning thanks to years in service for his uncle, Bilbo, was trying to convey the real condition of Middle-earth to some simpler hobbits. Frodo had barely given any attention to the talk since he thought it was none of his business, and he felt he had had enough similar talk related by his uncle over and over before the old hobbit left.

A conversation Frodo was willing to pay _anything_ right now to have again, even if he was to ignore it again. Because if he were to have that conversation again, that would mean he was still innocent of whatever happening afterwards. That he was still ignorant of the presence of the Ring. Of the horror of the threats coming from those desiring It. Of the harrowing grief over the loss of It…

Frodo would still have been a carefree, young hobbit, just coming of age, who had the world before him. 

_"Well, it's none of our concern what goes on beyond our borders. Keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble'll come to you."_

Seeing how each of his friends had got a mug in their hands, Frodo reached out for his too, to realize later on that his hand had been shaking. Frodo looked around and his gaze stopped short at the Shire folks sitting on the far-left table. The one with the pumpkin was there and he and his mates were still gossiping about Frodo and his bunch, apparently, from the way they kept stealing glances at them.

Frodo reminisced over the warning given by the short-minded hobbit that long-ago night. He contemplated on how wrong the hobbit had been. _Trouble_ would have still come to them, although they did not go looking for it. And Frodo would have agreed with that Shireling and moved back home, had he not seen the Lady of the Wood's mirror. The _trouble_ was not a mere trouble anymore. He had witnessed that peril, destruction, and slavery would have come to the Shire had someone not gone to save it.

_Far-off tales_, they said.

_Children's stories._

Frodo was brought back to reality by the sight of his companions raising their tankards, and he followed suit in spontaneity. Nobody spoke, though. Not even a smile appeared on each of their faces. Weariness. Emptiness. Longing for something that was lost. Memories that sometimes were too painful to remember. Memories about friends they made and lost. About all the battles they lost and won. And the one quest they had fulfilled. But those were all _they_ were now familiar with. Some things only the four of them in this part of the world could relate to. Some things no one else could comprehend.

So

should they, at least, try to tell that to these Shire people?

Or not?

What difference would that make if they did?

The Shire had always been a peaceful place before the Ring. It had gone unnoticed during the war, and it was still unruffled now.

What difference would that make to those who had stayed in it during all those uneventful times?

Besides, Frodo sighed, he hardly had energy left to explain them all right now. 

_"Goodnight, lads."_

Frodo gulped, jumping up, almost choked by his own ale. _Pardon?_ He looked up, and before him was Sam with glittering, determined eyes -- not on him, though, but on the owner of that soft voice, Rosie. Just then Frodo realized that he was no longer hearing the voices of the past, though he distinctly recalled the lass had said exactly the same thing to them as they left the Inn the night after Bilbo's birthday party. Frodo wanted to embrace her and ask her to say the words again and again. To show him that everything was still the same and not a mere echo from time long gone.

To convince him that there was nothing wrong with staying the same. That the peaceful Shire was still the same place as the one he had left once. That things had never changed here and neither had the people. That even _he_ had the chance to remain the same.   
  


The End   
  


AN: Some lines are taken from _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_, Extended Version.


End file.
